


Pride

by amorae



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Cutler my baby, Gen, I don't know, Sad, You've been warned, a sad story of cutler, because cutler is my favorite, does anyone actually read being human fanfiction, okay, saaaaaaad, you were the best character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorae/pseuds/amorae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interpretation of Cutler's demise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE A LOT OF NICK CUTLER FEELINGS

It took a long time for Cutler to completely dismantle his emotions.

One by one, he tore away every fragment, every piece, every broken shard of feeling he had left inside the pit of humanity that rested deep within his rib cage, and tossed them away. He rarely looked to see where he tossed them; after all, it wasn’t as if he would be needing those _feelings_ anytime soon. 

It had started the moment he saw Rachel was dead.

He didn’t know a thing about ghosts, so he couldn’t revel in the momentary relief of knowing she had passed on. He didn’t know of the horror that lurked just around the corner, a smidgen of time smudged against the lapse across space, the very real possibility that his beloved Rachel could have been stuck on Earth for just a few moments (or months, or years, or decades, or centuries) longer while she searched for the answer to her unfinished business. 

Instead, all he had was her limp body, ghostly pale and still lukewarm, fingers as long and as slender as he remembers, but now incapable of playing music to lull him to sleep during sleepless nights. He tried to ignore the tubes jutting from her body—such a strong contrast from her blurred and soft contours!—as he brushed her hair from her face and tried to capture one last innocent view of her beauty before the mangled and decimated reality set in. He barely heard as his companions chuckled, sneered, and spoke to him with a touch of arrogance in their voices: the only thing in the world, in that moment, was Rachel. Everything else sounded like rushing water; looked like the faint outline of a picture out of focus; meant nothing to him, or at least, very little. 

Memories of their life together stung the back of his eyelids (“ _We should try for a baby, don’t you think? The economy is picking up, this seems like a good time to have a child._ ”) as he closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that his wife was dead (“ _Sometimes, I still feel as if we’re giddy teenagers; you simply make me feel so excited and in love._ ”) by the hands of creatures that, a month prior, he had no idea existed (“ _I will love you until the very moment I die; and when I die, I will wait for you to join me again._ ”). 

This was the moment Cutler tore _grief_ from his existence. He knew that there was no way he would ever experience grief quite like this ever again in his life. 

\--

He slammed his fists against the table, thinking for a fraction of a second, _shit, this is mahogany_ , before he decided that he really didn’t give a damn. His face contorted as he tried to form the words that desperately wanted to escape to attack Hal, but instead, his mouth felt as if it were filled with sand. He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth and tried to suck the sand into the back of his throat, so that he may form the words he so desperately wanted to say. It was a fruitless effort, however. Hal simply glared at him with a weary, sad look, almost as if he thought he knew more than Cutler ever could. 

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice curt and tailored, so like the Hal Cutler had grown to think of as a friend. 

“You’re damn right I don’t understand!” he found himself telling him, narrowing his eyes at him as he curled his fingers into a fist. “You’re abandoning everything you stand for. You’re abandoning everything you’ve _done!_ You’re abandoning those that care about you.” The words hung in the air between their bodies, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. 

Hal sighed, his shoulders slumping as he placed his head into his hands. “Cutler. You’re lucky I’m even _telling_ you about this. It means I trust you.” 

His lip curled into a sneer while he regarded Hal. He tried to remember the Hal that had recruited him—the Hal that had, truth be told, ruined his life in a single night. This was not the Hal he had grown to respect, to regard fondly, to appreciate. This was a different Hal. Cutler wondered if the community was losing anything of great value by kicking him to the curb. “Well you shouldn’t have,” he said, wondering vaguely whether his words would have any significant impact on his old friend. “Because I’m going to tell everyone about this.” 

Hal nodded, his head still held tightly within his hands. “I understand, and I would expect nothing less of you.” After another moment of a tense silence, Hal looked up at Cutler and tried to twist his face into a smile. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone.” Hal left, then, leaving quietly, his footsteps muted against the carpet in Cutler’s posh-and-vampire-owned office. 

Cutler can’t help but think: but you’re abandoning me. 

This was the moment Cutler tore out any concept of the feeling of friendship from his existence, tossing it as far away from him as he could. Friends were worthless, after all. 

\--

And when Cutler is left with only one emotion, one single emotion that he clung to and focused on throughout the years, it was ultimately ripped from him by someone else. 

It was all he could do to stand, slack jawed, as the Old Ones he had worked so hard to impress, had tried so hard to placate, laughed at him and said: _”I’ve already forgotten your name._ ” 

Cutler left, his world spinning around his head madly, walking blindly to the destination he always knew he’d wind up at someday. And when he pounded on the door, throwing himself against it with all his weight, begging to be let in, he knew what he had to do. 

He watched as his hand sizzled, crackled, _pop!_ ’d through the force of old magic, attempting to keep him from entering a house he was not welcome in.

But it didn’t stop him.

He tried not to wail as the fire engulfed him, as his heart and liver and lungs began to boil slowly inside him. He crawled through the front door and looked up at the ghost girl he had seen so few times. He saw her horrified expression and knew that she was keeping that _damned baby_ safe. 

There was another ghost girl in the room, babbling to him, but once again it sounded like rushing water in his ears. Nothing mattered. He pulled himself closer to the sound of the crying baby, ignoring the girl dressed in black as she whined about him ruining his own cause and God knew what else. None of that mattered. 

As he pulled himself over the edge of the couch to leer at the baby, he wondered for a split second whether he really wanted to do this. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to completely destroy everything they—everything _he_ —had worked so hard for all these years? 

_Yes._

That was why it was so shocking when he felt the slight _thump_ of a stake rushing through his heart right as he was preparing himself to take the baby. His body barely registered the pain, but he knew what had happened almost immediately. He had barely enough time to look up at his killer and think: _I couldn’t even throw away my own pride,_ before he vanished into thin air.


End file.
